Right and Good
by wecouldexplorethegalaxy
Summary: In which Watson finds himself increasingly alarmed by the law-breaking he's been involved in since meeting Holmes...and then decides it's worth it; an unpublished entry from the journal of Dr. John H. Watson.


**ACD's, filtered through lens of a modern viewer.**

** Rosey is my beta and my love.**

I have always considered myself a law-abiding man, and before my acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes, I had no reason to believe otherwise.

It came as quite a shock to me the first time he asked me to assist in a burglary. Certainly, it was for the good of the case and ultimately for the purpose of bringing justice to a murky crime, but it still alarmed my rather stiff sensibilities. I was raised in a household where legal and illegal corresponded exactly to right and wrong, and needless to say, the idea that this might not be strictly true in all cases came as a bit of a blow to my mindset.

The first time Holmes induced me to break the law was during the case of the blackmail of Lady Eva Blackwell by Charles Milverton. Holmes certainly expected me to balk at the idea of breaking and entering, and indeed at the start I did. However, I quickly changed my tune upon realizing that Holmes intended to leave me behind. Though I usually take Holmes at his word on matters involving his cases, I disregarded it this time based on one factor; Milverton had already threatened Holmes, and my friend has a most deplorable sense of self-preservation. He has an alarmingly pervasive habit of wandering into danger—either knowingly or unknowingly—and putting himself at a terrible risk solely for the sake of his case. Often I return home to Baker Street to find him in need of stitches and brandy, and I was unwilling to risk having worse happen to my friend when I could have prevented it.

The entire journey to Milverton's home I kept up an internal monologue in an attempt to persuade myself of the necessity and righteousness of our actions. Certainly, Milverton was an unmentionable cad who no doubt worked on the shadowy side of the law himself from time to time, but did that excuse our intrusion upon his private property? If one became a criminal in order to catch a criminal, who, the hunter or the prey, really had the moral high ground?

I could have moralized and philosophized for hours, but in the end I'd never really had a choice; Holmes was going; therefore, so was I.

By the end of the affair Holmes and I had broken several more laws, including the shielding of a murderer. To my own surprise, I regretted nothing. I felt, and still feel, that in this particular case justice was better served outside the law than within it.

After that particular case, my own stance on breaking laws in the service of a higher good became much more lax. The disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax, the case of the three Garridebs and numerous others detailed both in my private and public accounts all involved some degree of transgression, mostly in the form of some fairly harmless housebreaking.

For obvious reasons, this account will not be publicized. I have seen Holmes do more good for more people in his own way than any other man on earth, and I would not see him stopped. I do not know when it happened, but some point I placed my absolute trust in Holmes. I believe that he is a better man than he gives himself credit for, and there is much to be said for the strength of character of which it takes to choose to do what is right and good over what is legal.

From an objective standpoint, the most frightening thing about the man I have become is my utter lack of remorse. I have killed for Holmes. I would not have done it had I seen any other way of preserving my friend's life, but were I to go back in time, I would do it over again. Many a night I have been awoken by nightmares of that moment, but each time what rouses me is not guilt, but horror at what would have happened had I not intervened.

But I am not wholly selfless—I do not only risk my reputation for the good of Holmes' clients. When I am sitting in my armchair with a cup of tea and a newspaper, and Holmes is sitting on the floor at my feet plucking at his violin, his head resting against my leg, I wonder if I am not breaking yet another law, and I wonder when I stopped caring if I did.


End file.
